


willing and able

by scullyseviltwin



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie IS a pushy little shit though, First Time, M/M, and there are feelings and introspection and shit, i'm not going to use a ton of tags because this is really just a blow job fic with feelings, in that Eddie gives his first blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyseviltwin/pseuds/scullyseviltwin
Summary: Eddie gives his first blowjob.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 36
Kudos: 290





	willing and able

Eddie has never had a date end like this.

Truth be told, he’s not sure he’s ever had a real date. He met Myra at a company party and then they just sort of… went. He’s never been courted like this, taken out to candlelit dinners where you linger over dessert, where you play footsie under the table and you make moony eyes at one another, hinting at what’s to come after dessert.

Richie’s been great, a proper gentleman; he’s sent Eddie roses to his home in New York, with stupid little notes like “Reds for my Eds,” that secretly make Eddie swoon. It also makes him roll his eyes, call Richie, tell him just how fucking much he actually really does hate that nickname—”Yes, still, asshole!”— though okay, the flowers are nice, shut up. 

He wouldn’t have thought that Richie Tozier was a bashful romantic under his technicolor facade, but Eddie is more than happy to be on the receiving end of his gestures. He’s pretty sure he’s the only person who’s witnessed this soft side of Richie, and he feels like it must be a mistake somehow, like he’s the luckiest bastard on the planet.

He’s also fairly certain that he’s the only person who’s ever seen Richie this restlessly needy. Richie, who slid his hand up Eddie’s thigh on the winding drive home, who pinned him to the passenger door after jogging around the car to open it for him-- “Chivalry! Alive and well!”--, Richie who grabbed at his ass as Eddie led them up the four floors to Richie’s apartment. 

And now Richie has him pressed up against the door of his place, knee tightly in between Eddie’s thighs as they make out.

Eddie registers that this must look completely indecent, but he lets the thought go. He’s buzzing, in his bones, in his blood. He’s humping Richie, for Christ’s sake, moving against his leg in a desperate attempt at getting more friction.

When he licks into Richie’s mouth, he’s rewarded with a gasp that puffs up his steadily-growing confidence.  
  
  
They kiss like it’s the main event, indulgent and loud. Their movements are sloppy, eager, and there are frequent detours south of jawlines to suck bruises into skin. It makes Eddie feel giddy and young and weirdly carefree, kissing his  _ boyfriend _ , and basically in public.

Eddie imagines that this is what he would have felt like as a teenager, making out, copping a feel—with  _ who _ ?— if he’d had any sort of normal upbringing. 

Their kisses don’t slow, and Eddie knows it’s time to move the party along when he knocks his head hard enough against the wood to scramble his brain and distract from his raging hard on. He tries to grab for Richie’s keys but they’re far too deep in his back pocket, so he cops a feel instead and hopes that Richie gets the hint.

Richie does, grunting and jostling his keys out of his pocket without breaking their kiss—is that learned? Or is Richie just that good? Eddie takes it upon himself to snatch the keys away, and they stumble over the threshold and into the darkness of the apartment.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been to Richie’s place, but it is the first time he’s forced Richie through the door and tugged at the button of his jeans like this, the first time he’s stuck his hand down the front of Richie’s underwear with no preamble and said “I wanna suck you,” in a needy, desperate scrape. 

That has Richie pulling back, blinking like he’s trying to keep up. It’s pretty adorable—a look that Eddie finds Richie to wear  _ so _ well—watching it finally compute, and Richie responds with a muffled “Bwuh,” of assent, followed hotly by, “Wait, you’re sure? Now?”

“Now,” Eddie demands, a desperate garble, and tugs at Richie’s taut shoulders—so he has a thing for those, so what?—moving him backwards in the direction of the bedroom. 

He’s taken Richie by surprise, and he feels pretty thrilled about it. Generally Richie is the one to carefully test the boundaries of their sexual relationship, and it’s Eddie who’s the one scraping a hand over his eyes and muttering, “I’m sorry.”

Richie never accepts his apology because it’s apparently “not needed,” and tells him that they’ll “get there, it’s not a race.” But it’s been six months, and Eddie’s been looking forward to this weekend for this very reason. 

The image of Richie in his mouth, he’d gotten the idea in his head three weeks ago and couldn’t get it out. 

“To be completely and totally clear, we’re talking a beej,” Richie rudely interrupts before Eddie shuts him up, licking into his mouth. Their kissing is awkward but enthusiastic, lips hitting cheeks and chins as they ricochet down the hallway. 

Eddie thinks that he should maybe care about the photos on the wall, rattling behind them, but he’s past that point. One hits the floor and it barely registers. Richie’s left heel catches the jamb of the bedroom door and they spin, Eddie pirouetting more neatly than should be allowed after two gin and tonics. 

“Jesus Christ, ruin the moment, I said  _ suck, _ what else would I be talking about? Keep up,” he slaps Richie’s cheek lightly and then they’re at the side of the bed. Richie is shaking with what Eddie really hopes is excitement, tearing off his shirt, and Eddie is hitting the floor and  _ goddamn _ . His patellas reverberate through his fibulas and he sucks in a shaky breath that has nothing to do with how impatient he is to get Richie’s cock out.

Richie blinks his eyes open just as Eddie glances up.  
  
  
“You good?”   
  
  
The concern is so real that it threatens to cut through the delightful low buzz Eddie’s got going on. The bare lust in Richie’s eyes is heavy and thick and ratchets Eddie’s arousal up another notch; he feels like he’s going to burn from the inside out, he wants this so badly.  


“Just my knees,” Eddie grumbles, heat burning through his voice. He can deal with the pain, two Aleve and he’ll be right as rain. “I can’t remember the last time I fucking  _ kneeled _ .”

“Hah, no shit,” Richie gasps, Eddie curling his fingers lightly around Richie. “Want a—a pillow?”

“I’m good,” his breath skates out, and he’s close enough to Richie’s skin that Richie shivers with it. His hamstrings strain as he settles back and tugs at the zipper of Richie’s jeans, his fingers shaking, he’s so keyed up. 

He’s not nervous, exactly; he knows the mechanics that go into sucking cock. But he’s never physically done it, so as far as practical knowledge goes he has zero. The hand jobs he and Richie have tallied up are more than most of his prior—incredibly, depressingly vanilla—sexual encounters combined, which he figures would be pretty fucking sad if he didn’t have the excuse of being a closeted gay man for the majority of his life.

Which is... also pretty fucking sad.

“Babe, we good?” Richie asks, voice pitched high and breathy. 

Eddie blinks, refocuses, glances up to see Richie tweaking a nipple, eyes big and hungry. Richie looks like he’s fucking starving for him, and Eddie wonders what he looks like, now, on his knees, desperate for Richie’s cock. Does he look the same? Flushed and heaving, moments away from begging?

The faces Richie makes when Eddie has only his palm wrapped around him are enough to make Eddie believe in a higher power. Richie’s vulnerability shines through in those moments, tender and cherished. His little mewls for more, for more from  _ him _ , are the best things Eddie’s ever heard.

To be the person to cause that twist of pleasure-pain writ across Richie’s brow, to be the one sending his heart racing and his breath gasping...

It’s fucking powerful, and Eddie loves it.

He can’t believe he’s had to wait his entire life to experience real, pure happiness. 

They’ve been taking it slow, out of respect for both of their massive trauma. Very responsible of them, very adult, very  _ frustrating. _ Eddie realistically knows it was for the best; sprinting towards a physical relationship with the love of his life sounded great until he stacked the idea up against his laundry list of hang-ups (that he’s working on, thank you very much, to the tune of one-hundred-and-twenty dollars an hour.)

Neither one of them had been in a mad rush to bone, both of them way too overwhelmed with the realization that they could each actually be cared for—without strings—and deserve it. There had been more important things to worry about, like booking travel, coloring blocks of time on calendars with airport codes and hotel names and curbside pick up times.

But now, heat burning low in his belly, Eddie finds he really hasn’t ever wanted anything more. He decides he’s done going about his life not knowing Richie like  _ this _ , so he cups Richie through his jeans and gives him a squeeze. 

When Richie’s hips buck into him—right knee jumping wildly—it’s like fireworks. He’s on fire, Richie’s body praising his efforts through reactionary movement. 

God, he’s past ready to know what Richie sounds like with Eddie’s mouth stuffed full. 

He’s been ready for this since Richie had sidled up to him at the bar tonight, placed his hand in the center of Eddie’s back and said, in the fondest voice he’d ever heard, “Hey, handsome.”

If Eddie was a romantic—and he’s not, fuck, he’s  _ not _ —he might allow the idea to take root, of having been ready for Richie Tozier since he was six years old. If he was a  _ romantic _ , he might think something like, “I love you and this will break my heart if it’s not forever.”

If he thinks about it, he’s likely to get stuck there, so he settles back on his heels and tugs Richie’s jeans down his hips, his boxer briefs falling with them.

”Oh, Jesus,” Richie wheezes as his cock bobs free.

_ Hello _ , Eddie thinks and feels ridiculous. Then Richie is there, in his mind, and Eddie is imagining Richie putting on a voice and making his dick talk and it’s so stupid and so childish and something that could absolutely happen. Jesus Christ, if it isn’t something that Eddie  _ wants  _ to happen, would be  _ happy _ to participate in, and that sets him off.

“What?” Richie asks, Eddie’s chuckles petering out to silent huffs of laughter.

“Tell you later,” Eddie murmurs and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the crease where Richie’s thigh meets his groin, lays the flat of his tongue there. When he pulls back, Richie’s head is tossed back, his breath racing, and Eddie feels a stirring of pride that is  _ very _ satisfying.

And that was just his tongue on Richie’s leg.

He circles the base of Richie’s cock with his fingers and gives it a light squeeze, wringing a cavernous groan from above. It’s a sound that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get sick of—pretty sure it’s a sound he’ll imagine when he’s  _ jacking off _ —so he does it again, with the same result.

He stares at Richie’s liquid eyes as he licks his lips, rotates his jaw just a little.

“You gotta, like, tell me if…” Eddie begins, but he’s distracted as a bead of precome bleeds across the tip of Richie’s dick and he’s right there, it’s right in front of his eyes, and he _wants_.

“Hm?”

With his head tipped down, Richie has four chins, and Eddie is lost in adoration. He looks so stupidly young and unmoored, like the only thing keeping him on Earth is their linked gaze.

There’s something in Richie’s eyes—a vulnerability—that scoops out Eddie’s stomach and upends his balance. A pressure behind his eyes makes him blink and then Eddie has to suck in a breath, because the feeling that washes over him is perfectly and pristinely new. There’s no place to settle it.

Eddie has never felt love like this, and that’s the only reason he’s able to recognize it for exactly what it is.

“Sorry, I-” he shakes his head, overwhelmed by the acuteness of sensation.

“Eds?”

“I’m good, I’m good, I--” His chest seizes up and just as quickly releases, ribs opening, fracturing wide. He drags a hand across his eyes as he grins, shaking his head at the sentimentality. He’s supposed to be giving head, not waxing poetic.

“Fuck, I’m… I...”

Richie peels both of his eyes open and waits, mouth tipped up in a lazy half-smile.

Richie has been really, really great at waiting.

The breath Eddie sips in is quick and shivering and his words come out in a long stream. “You have to let me know if something is bad. I mean, I’ve been watching videos and-”

The half-smile drops off of his face and Richie’s eyes bug almost comically. “Fuck,  _ what _ ?”

“Just to like, I don’t know! Figured it couldn’t hurt,” Eddie huffs, digs the pads of his thumbs sadistically into Richie’s hips, causing a jerky little jump. 

Eddie tips his chin back and watches as Richie’s chest hitches, blotchy and shining with sweat.

“Oh my god,” Richie falls back onto the bed, and reaches out to flail for Eddie. “You sweet little nutbag, oh my god, porn isn’t real, it’s not gonna…that—I mean, that’s hot as hell...” 

Richie swipes his hand across his eye, palm landing on his stomach with a sharp slap. 

“Second, just. We don’t, like, have to do this right now if you don’t wanna. All the time in the world, right?”

They’ve talked about this; Eddie has talked this to death, and he just wants to get his tongue on Richie’s dick and feel the size of him stretching his mouth. He just wants to make Richie feel the world-shifting sort of pleasure that Richie’s made him feel. 

He wants to be inside, in his bones, in his blood.

It’s  _ terrifying. _

__

__

“I’m good with whatever feels good.” Richie’s sigh is long and thin, and Eddie’s eyes are drawn to Richie’s right hand as it slides down his stomach and wraps around his cock. “Whatever you wanna do, whatever feels good to you, whatever you want.”

__

__

His words are gentle, infinitely patient even as he pulls lewdly at his cock. A study in contrast.

__

__

Richie with his loud prints and his quiet words, with his brash and bold personality and the most caring touch Eddie has ever received. Richie, who is in love with him, and has been since they were twelve. Who waits so patiently because he knows that Eddie can nut up and be brave, it just sometimes takes him awhile. 

__

__

He slides his palms up Richie’s furry legs, reveling in the shiver he draws out of him. Eddie hadn’t really thought of legs as being particularly erogenous, but if Richie is going to make those sounds, he definitely wants to do some more exploring. 

__

__

In the morning. Because right now, he’s on his knees, between Richie’s thighs, and Richie’s cock is out, and he’s not going to psych himself out, or let his mind wander. He stretches up and places an open-mouthed kiss on the underside, as though proving a point to himself. Richie’s hand jumps on his dick, almost hitting Eddie in the face. 

__

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“What I wanna do,” Eddie says, dropping another kiss lower on his shaft, “Is suck your dick.”

__

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“Okay, diving right in! Love the enthusiasm,” Richie rasps and smacks his palm down on the duvet. “Here, get up here.”

__

__

He does as told, moving without a second thought to blanket Richie, but Richie shakes his head.

__

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“Uh-uh, clothes off,” Richie says and Eddie rolls his eyes, as though he’s put out. Really, he’d just forgotten to strip down, too focused on getting at Richie’s dick. Not that he ever intends to tell Richie that, because he’d never, ever hear the end of it.  
  
  
“Please?” Richie tacks on, coquettishly innocent, so Eddie makes a little show out of stripping down. Two can play, and all that bullshit.

__

__

He goes slow, his fingers lingering on the curve of his buttons, Richie’s gaze tethered to his every movement. 

__

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He loves when Richie watches him, always silent and serious. It’s a bit reverent, the way Richie looks at him and Eddie becomes entirely overwhelmed in those moments, sick in love, being the focus of every bit of that attention. 

__

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When he finally climbs onto the bed, Richie moves to grasp him, but Eddie smacks his hands away. Richie’s indignant squeak delights him, and he shifts back to sit astride Richie’s hips. 

__

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He smooths Richie’s hair out of his eyes as he wraps his other hand around him and squeezes, slowly. Tight and slow as molasses is how Richie usually likes it, and Eddie is happy to oblige, squeezing along his length casually, without much friction.  
  
  
Richie is a live wire, coiled tightly, shifting himself up the bed as he presses his hips into Eddie’s downstroke, angling for a faster pace. But Eddie takes his time—he  _ knows _ what Richie wants—running the tips of his fingers along Richie’s shaft, as slow as he’s able. He’s learned Richie like this, with the palm of his hand and his rough fingertips; he’s well-practiced in driving him to the edge, so he keeps it light.

__

__

He has no intention of allowing Richie to blow his wad before he gets his mouth on him, and the sounds that are coming out of his mouth mean that he’s already too close. Eddie licks a stripe across his palm and leans down to roll Richie’s balls as he tips forward and finally slips the tip of Richie’s dick into his mouth.

__

__

For a moment, he just holds him, cataloguing the flavor, the musk and the heat. He gives him a light suck and then takes another, longer pull. A dribble of precome meets his tongue and a shiver wracks him; he shakes as he slides his mouth further, takes Richie deeper.

__

__

When he drags his mouth up—going all-in on slurping—Richie’s moan is long and obscenely loud; his hands flail at his sides until Eddie snatches one up and slides it into his own hair. He’s certain that Richie would never hold him down, but the weight there is reassuring. When Richie’s fingers start to press against his scalp, Eddie preens. 

__

__

He spreads out, hunkers down, angles his pelvis into the duvet to relieve some of the pressure. Richie’s hips begin to roll and Eddie doubles down, pulls off and spits against Richie’s dick, wrapping his hand around the base to stroke what his mouth and throat can’t take.

__

__

Richie is big, and he feels fucking huge in Eddie mouth, slick and molten. Richie’s hips flex powerfully beneath him and Eddie groans, redoubling his efforts, wanting to see what other reactions he can coax out of him. Spit runs down his chin and he coughs when he gets too enthusiastic, and it’s fantastic.

__

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“S’fucking amazing,” Richie slurs, and he reaches down with his thumb, presses it against Eddie’s cheek to feel himself on the other side of it. “So fucking good.”  
  
  
To know that he’s making Richie feel this  _ good _ , it’s straight dopamine.  
  
  
Eddie fucking loves it and desperately wants to show Richie just how much.    
  


__

So he dives in, a starving man at a feast. Richie mewls in a staccato rhythm, hips twitching up but only minutely. Eddie appreciates Richie’s restraint, and as a reward, slides his left hand up Richie’s chest and finds a nipple. His blunt fingernail skates over it, stealing Richie’s breath and taking him by surprise. 

__

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“Fuck, oh my— I’m gonna,” Richie grunts and Eddie pulls away and shifts back; he wants to kiss him but settles for second-best and slips his fore and middle fingers into Richie’s mouth. 

__

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Richie’s slick tongue wraps around Eddie’s fingers and Eddie nearly overloads on sensation, his dick throbbing as Richie whines against his skin.

__

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The angle is a little weird, but Eddie keeps his fingers tight around Richie’s dick, messily jerking him.

__

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When Richie comes, it’s seismic. It rolls up through his body and then arrests him, his muscles snapping taut, mouth guppying for air. Eddie is torn between watching Richie’s face and watching his dick as he spurts, one long stripe and then another, more forceful. 

__

__

Eddie isn’t ready when it spatters the side of his face, his temple, and the corner of his eye; he sputters indignantly, but manages to keep a hold of Richie, settling him through the twitching aftershocks. 

__

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That… that he  _ had _ seen in the videos.

__

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When Richie calms, Eddie reaches over to snatch up his shirt, using it to dot primly at the come in his eyelashes.

__

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It takes quite a while for the situation to register with Richie, and when it does, the whole bed shakes with the force of his laughter. “Hah, oh no, oh shit!”

__

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“Yeah!” Eddie clips and throws the dirtied oxford at Richie’s face, where it lands without incident.

__

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“Sorry Eds, I—”

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“Is this gonna be a habit? Because if it is, and I need to wear goggles so I don’t go blind-”

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Richie tosses the shirt to the floor, reaches out to rest his palm against Eddie’s thigh. “You can’t go blind from come in your eye, my fucking god,” Richie sighs. “Much to learn you have.”

__

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Eddie  _ hates _ that his Yoda is so good. 

__

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“Don’t be an asshole,” Eddie grumbles, but he’s grinning.

__

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Richie smiles back, pats his own cheek with a gentle slap. “Wanna get me back?”

__

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“Get you back?”

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“Come on my face,” he urges, eyes all mischievous, brows jumping in invitation. 

__

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It hits Eddie like a freight train, the image of Richie’s face painted in his come. He’s never considered this before; it had never crossed his mind as something that he might be interested in, nevermind lit on fire by the sheer mention of.

__

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“Uhhh...”

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“If that’s too much I totally get it, we don’t--”

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“Shut up,” Eddie says as he swoops down and kisses Richie, filthy and confident. “No take backs,” he gasps, clambering up the bed to line his cock up with Richie’s face. 

__

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“Hang on,” Richie says and flips over; Eddie says nothing about Richie smearing his own semen all over the bed. He can deal with that later, because Richie is wriggling onto his back again, dribbling hand-warmed lube over Eddie’s cock. “There, now. Fuck me up.”

__

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“Can I,” Eddie asks and reaches out towards Richie’s mouth and Richie’s eyes go gorgeously wide as he nods vigorously, unlocking his jaw and allowing Eddie to slip his fingers back in. 

__

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He’s dialed up to eleven; it’s not going to take much. He curls his fingers around himself and gives himself one long, slow stroke, the tip of his dick touching Richie’s stubbly chin. It sends electricity down his spine, and he squeezes himself indulgently.

__

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The sensations building in him are so new and candescent, it makes even his own touch all the more heady. And Richie’s face, twisted in pleasure and eagerly waiting, tender. That Richie wants this and Eddie wants it even more, wants to give up his control, give himself over, entirely—

__

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It’s everything. 

__

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Richie speaks around Eddie’s slick fingers, a garbled, “Fuck yes,” and Eddie’s right there on the edge. 

__

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When Richie slips his fingers along the crease of Eddie’s thigh and dips around to tease his balls, he’s gone. 

__

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It’s a wringing, from the inside out. Eddie’s spine snaps and he comes. He burns up with it, Richie’s teeth bearing sweetly into his fingers as his come stripes Richie’s face.

__

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When Richie’s tongue peeks out to lap at his lips, Eddie goes a little woozy, humming loudly as he sucks oxygen into his taxed lungs. His thumb hooks over Richie’s lip and then down over his Adam’s apple, and Eddie collapses, presses his face into Richie’s messy neck, breathes in the humid air. 

__

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“That,” Richie starts and then says nothing. “Yep, that was… I uh, you  _ blew _ me away.”

__

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Eddie chuckles despite himself; he loves this man, and his awful puns. “Must have, if that’s the best you’ve got.”

__

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“Just like,” Richie swipes at his face with his palm and then rubs it against the blanket. Eddie really thinks he should care that Richie is wiping jizz all over the bed, but he’s boneless, and it honestly doesn’t matter one fucking bit; this is what washing machines are for. 

__

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“Give me like, ten minutes and I’ll be back online. Can’t, you know. What’s the word?”   
  
“Hm?”

__

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“Think, can’t think.”

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“I sucked your brains out?”

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“Mhm, and what didn’t get sucked out died when you came all over my face, you little slut.”

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Eddie sighs and curls into Richie, pressing his lips to the sweat-cool skin of his neck. They float like that for a time, buoyant on the endorphins. Eddie’s alight with the slight kinkiness of it all, and it gets his mind wandering. He wonders if Richie will be good to go again in the morning, hopes,  _ wants wants wants _ . 

__

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They drift, sticky and sated and Eddie revels in the lightness in his chest. It’s elation, and deep contentment. 

__

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“What are you thinking,” Richie asks him eventually, after their sweat has cooled.

__

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Eddie glances up at him, at the mirth dancing in his gaze, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “I kinda, I don’t know. Do you want to order a pizza?”  


__

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“That is not what I thought you were going to say, holy shit.” Richie’s head flops over and his goofy grin is the best thing Eddie’s ever seen. “Edward Kaspbrak, I am… in  _ awe  _ of you. I get a beej  _ and _ a pizza?”

__

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Truth be told, Eddie’s a little in awe of himself, because he’s so flayed open and in love. He’s pretty sure that loving Richie is the  _ single _ best thing he’s ever done. 

__

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“You  _ get _ ? I’m not paying for the pizza, asshole. The pizza is payment for me putting my mouth on your dick.” Eddie grabs Richie’s face gently and slowly draw’s Richie’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

__

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When he pulls away, it’s with a satisfied sigh. “Just get pepperoni and maybe some mozzarella sticks and meet me in the shower. Your jizz is in my hair.”

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Richie rolls over and curls around him, smashing them together from clavicle to hip. “Okay. Anything for you, Eds.”

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It’s a quivering thing, and so quiet that Eddie barely hears him. 

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“Rich—”

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“I love you so goddamned much. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to deal with that.” He squeezes Eddie tightly, desperately, and then releases him, rolls away to pull up DoorDash, as though nothing has happened. “Shut up and get in the shower,” he calls over his shoulder, but it’s low and wet.

__

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Eddie moves, draping himself over Richie’s back, their tacky skin pressing together. Eddie’s heart hammers and he hopes that Richie can feel the strength of it. 

__

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“Hey, you idiot,” he says, lips against Richie’s ear. “I’m not only more than  _ happy _ to deal with that, I consider it a privilege.” 

__

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“Okay?” Eddie asks, after a stretch of silence.

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“Yeah,” Richie sniffles, and presses at his eyes. “Okay.”

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Eddie places an indulgent kiss on the back of his neck and then peels himself away, swats at Richie’s ass playfully. “Which translates to I love you so goddamned much, too, in case you didn’t get that.”

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“I  _ got _ it,” Richie laughs, watery.

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“You  _ sure _ ?”

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Richie flops onto his back, props himself up on his elbows and his eyes positively shine at Eddie. “Oh my  _ god _ , I’m just—get in the shower.”

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“Fine! Stop crying and order the pizza!” Eddie orders, the tone tempered by a grin. 

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“Fine!”

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Eddie retreats, knowing that Richie will join him in a while. He’ll slide into the cubicle and wrap his arms around Eddie from behind and cradle him beneath the warm water. He’ll probably sing something dumb that Eddie won’t be able to get out of his head for a week. And they’ll kiss and touch with soapy hands until the doorbell rings.

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And Eddie will feel like he always does when he’s with Richie.

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In the exact, right place.

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**Author's Note:**

> 5000 words of me just trying to write and [oxfordlunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxfordlunch/pseuds/oxfordlunch) once again whipping me into some semblance of shape.
> 
> Also, dear clown town, I am constantly in awe of the product being produced in this fandom. You all make me want to be a better writer.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scullyseviltwin) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/scullyseviltwin).


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